


Lubricating Falsehoods

by Fire_Sign



Series: Phrack Fucking Fridays [6]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:57:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9122488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: Phryne could say that her presence at the club was a complete coincidence, but she would be lying. As Jack’s eyes raked over her coolly, jaw clenching, she wondered exactly how bad a little lie would actually be. Not that he’d believe her--the problem with a relationship between detectives that that all the little lubricating falsehoods were too transparent to work.“Search the women,” he barked at a constable. “All of them.”---------------Otherwise known as The Fic That Was Supposed To Be Angry Smut And Didn't Quite Manage, But At Least There's A Desk? And this si the SIXTH PFF. You all are amazing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was SUPPOSED to be angry desk sex. It kind of missed the mark, but whatcha gonna do about it? Phrack fuck, and that's the point of it really.
> 
>  
> 
> Unrelated, but for those who aren't on Tumblr and are curious about the influx of soulmate fics this month: the short answer is that it was a challenge open to anybody, and [the idea of tackling a new prompt/trope every month has been suggested](http://firesign23.tumblr.com/post/155385452072/mfmm-year-of-tropes). We are in the trope-collecting stage, so if you have a trope you'd like to see as part of this challenge feel free to message me on Tumblr or leave ideas as a comment here!

Phryne could say that her presence at the club was a complete coincidence, but she would be lying. As Jack’s eyes raked over her coolly, jaw clenching, she wondered exactly how bad a little lie would actually be. Not that he’d believe her--the problem with a relationship between detectives that that all the little lubricating falsehoods were too transparent to work.

“Search the women,” he barked at a constable. “All of them.”

The poor boy jumped and began to make tentative explorations of the first woman in line. Jack watched him, a look of sardonic amusement--no, not amusement--on his face. He looked about ready to spit tacks, and still hadn’t acknowledged her presence in line.

When the constable, practically baby-faced, reached her, his hands barely touched her as he made his search. Less than a minute later he was done, until Jack coughed.

“Again. I can see from here she’ll have… what is it today, Miss Fisher? Lockpick for certain, and the dagger in the garter is almost a given. I suspect the pistol is in your handbag?”

“That’s hardly fair, Jack, you _know_ me--” Phryne teased, but not even that seemed to break through his anger.

The constable resumed his search, coming up with both items (and yes, the pistol was in her handbag), and held them up for Jack’s examination. All he did was nod curtly.

“Arrest her,” he said, turning on his heel and striding from the room.

\------

They had actually put her in the cells in the basement of the station, with a snoring drunk and a chill in the air; she hadn’t even been able to grab her wrap before she’d been escorted out of the club. And several hours later, she was still locked in the damned cell with no word of when she’d be released.

“I want to telephone my solicitor,” she said, ignoring the slight tremble the cold had left in her voice.

It wasn’t the baby-faced constable from earlier, but someone who knew her; he unlocked the door and escorted her upstairs. Unfortunately for him, he hadn’t handcuffed her before releasing her, and the minute they were upstairs she slipped his grip and escaped into Jack’s office.

She slammed the door shut behind her, locking it. Jack looked up from his desk, then had the gall to look back down again.

“I believe you’re under arrest, Miss Fisher,” he said placidly. The sort of placid that was, in fact, only the _visible_ iceberg and warned people to steer clear. Phryne had never been a particularly cautious sailor.

“What the hell, Jack?”

“Please return to your cell, or I’ll have my constable escort you once more.”

“No!” she said, locking the second door and crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“I don’t think I was making a request,” he said, his voice a near growl.

“You’re not really intending to charge me,” Phryne said certainly.

“Miss Fisher, the sheer _number_ of offenses I could charge you with would keep our judicial courts busy for months. I would not test my patience right now.”

“I know you weren’t--”

“Cells, Miss Fisher.”

His cheek twitched, and she was filled with a sudden and rather unpleasant sensation of regret. Even worse, her first instinct was to placate him, and she bit her bottom lip to keep the words from spewing forth. He looked up at her, then stood and prowled towards her. His eyes were hot and dangerous, and she felt an unexpected thrill--it took a great deal to push her inspector into anger.

His mouth on hers was harsh and deep, an assertion of power she was willing to let him make as she returned the kiss, one hand reaching up to grip his hair. He tugged her dress up, slipping his hands beneath to span her hips and drag her closer.

“Jack,” she breathed against his lips.

“Damnit, Phryne.”

She turned them both, then backed the few steps to reach his desk and sit on the edge.

“Jack,” she repeated, a little more forcefully.

She tugged the shirt tails out of his trousers, unbuttoned the braces, scraped her nails against the skin of his stomach. A groan rumbled from his chest, and his fingers slipped beneath her knickers to pull them down; Phryne grasped his shoulders as she lifted her hips, letting him slide the silk down her legs.

“You’re cold,” he muttered against her shoulder, nipping at the skin.

“This dress is lovely,” she replied, “but not meant for an evening in the cells.”

“You didn’t bring a coat?”

“Left at the club.”

He growled, hands sliding up her thighs. “Which idiotic constable left you without a blanket?”

She tugged at his earlobe.

“It’s not a big deal, Jack--”

“Not for you. But we bring someone like Elsie Tizzard in and leave her there…”

Dear man.

“The new one,” she admitted. “But I imagine discovering he’d left the boss’s--oh yes, there--the boss’s scandalous sidepiece to shiver for a few hours will cure him of the habit.”

“It had better. I have enough trouble without adding an incompetent constable.”

His thumb had found clit and was pressing it just the right side of too hard, just the right side of too fast; she moaned, bucking her hips in time, one hand braced around his neck, the other drifting to palm his cock through his trousers.

“Trouble?” she teased breathlessly.

“What the hell were you thinking, Phryne?”

“I was thinking--oh god, get these off--that I hadn’t seen you properly in a week.”

“So going behind my back to--” he paused and looked at her. “You’re…?”

Phryne nodded. “All covered.”

He aligned himself and thrust, causing her to drop her head back and groan loudly. He hushed her, then shifted her thigh for a better angle and began to pump; Phryne’s body coiling towards climax almost instantly.

“So you went behind my back… to prove a point…” his teeth scraped along her clavicle, his mouth hot and wet, “which was reckless.... and ill-advised… and--”

Her fingers scrambled against him as she arched her body against his; she was so close, so very close she just--another thrust and a press of his thumb and she snapped, her body overcome by the flames of pleasure burning through her. His hips stuttered and he followed her over.

When the blood stopped pounding in her ears, she realised his forehead was resting against her shoulder and he was breathing heavily.

“Jack?” she said quietly, and he raised his head.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, the tenderness in his eyes telling her everything she needed to know about what he thought about it.

She dropped a kiss to his cheek and righted her dress, then helped him fix his own clothing in silence. When it was almost complete, he stepped back and looked at her.

“I don’t tell you what to investigate,” he said, straightening his tie, “and heaven knows that I’m happy to see you when our cases cross. But sneaking through _my_ files just to throw yourself in the middle of an investigation that’s not yours--”

“I’m sorry, Jack.”

She was. He’d been preoccupied by the investigation--the owner of the club was suspected of several crimes against his clientele--and she’d been bored, and it had been easy to convince herself that she’d be useful. _Would have_ been useful, based on what she’d turned up in the hour she’d had, if she hadn’t chosen the same damned day they finally called the raid. But good intentions or not, she had complicated the evening and called Jack’s position into question--the defense could argue that she’d been luring the owner, that the investigative files were handled incorrectly, any number of things. There were times his desires to keep her away from a case were stubbornness or pride or misplaced sentiments, but this was not one of them.

“Don’t--” he swallowed hard, and Phryne stepped closer to cup his cheek. “When I saw you there, I…”

“You were angry.”

“Furious,” he said, then his voice softened. “And terrified. With raids like that… there’s a lot of chaos, Phryne, and I need to keep focused so nobody gets hurt. I had two new constables with me today, another who just got married. And for a minute I forget about them.”

And there was the crux of it--he could tolerate her unsolicited meddling, even welcome it more often than not, but not at the cost of the people he was responsible for.

“I should have told you I was going,” she admitted. “I am sorry.”

He sighed, and took a seat behind his desk.

“Don’t be sorry, just… if we’re working together, because we share a case or because you can’t resist rifling through my briefcase, act like we’re working _together_ ,” he said, fiddling with a pen. Then he glanced up and gave her a small, tired smile. “So go on then. What did you find?”


End file.
